


Reconnaissance

by SpellsOfScarlet



Series: The Scarlet Witch [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Awesome Wanda Maximoff, BAMF Wanda Maximoff, Domestic Avengers, Hurt Wanda Maximoff, I promise, Manhandling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Powerful Wanda Maximoff, Team as Family, Undercover, Whump, fluff at the end, hurt/ comfort, not very graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 22:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20749859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpellsOfScarlet/pseuds/SpellsOfScarlet
Summary: In the very same moment that Wanda had decided to apologise softly to her comm, and then forcibly snatch the goddamn name from Creer’s mind, like she should’ve done from the beginning- shit went uncontrollably sideways, fast.“How much do you cost, honey?”Wanda blanched.Sorry, what?





	Reconnaissance

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hello!! Here’s a whumpy one shot no one asked for (what else do i write lmao) :) TW for very brief, non graphic sexual assault and some flashbacks, bc stay safe lovelies!! <3

_ [“ Wanda ,”] _

She startled, almost knocking over the waiter whose tray of drinks she’d been attempting to peruse...

_[“Focus on the mission, Maximoff.”]_

With a great effort, Maximoff just managed to stifle the urge to curse out Captain America, who’d been reprimanding via her earpiece ever since she’d inserted the damn thing. 

_ [“ FOcuS oN tHE MiSSiOn, MaXiMo -“] _

And there, of course, was Clint.

On the other side of the channel a tremendous  _thump_ sounded, and then a squeal was released at such a frequency that Wanda snorted, and promptly tried to disguise it as a mangled sort of cough. Imagining the scenes back at HQ was the only thing fuelling her reserve, right now. Envisioning all of the ways that Natasha might’ve murdered Clint- perhaps she’d gone for the chokehold, or maybe something exotic- was a glorious, remorseless escape. 

Of all the tortures in the world- most of which Wanda had experienced first hand-  _this_ was by far the most cruel. The people here were insufferable; her earrings weighed at least fifty kilos  _each_ , and her tight, shimmery dress was so incredibly impractical that the temptation of tearing the whole thing off was a constant. 

_Recon_ . Why on Earth was the Scarlet witch doing recon? 

“ _You might not always be able to rely on your powers_ ,” they’d said way back when, though they’d neglected to explain exactly how such a scenario would come to occur. “ _Even Tony did some level of training without the suit_ ,” was another, and “ _It’s good to be prepared_ .”

Plus, more importantly: Shield was scrambled, there was intel to be collected, and she was the only unrecognisable face in the Avengers team, currently. Double plus, she highly suspected that Sam was exacting his revenge from that  _one time_ she’d enlisted Bucky to help kidnap Redwing. 

And so, it was decided: Wanda would go undercover, as a fancy European business lady, at this here fancy business gala. It was all very proper: she had a suitably sleazy target, a morally dubious extraction mission (She needed a name from him, in order to stop a cataclysmic event. Probably.), and a very,  _very_ uncomfortable dress. 

How on earth did Natasha ever handle this? 

So far, the only progress she’d made on her entrusted mission was expertly deciphering the location of the toilets, which was actually a very skilled bit of stealth work, thankyou very much. She  _had_ been hoping to grab herself a drink before she had to partake in any form of real socialising, but... Americans were strange. Old enough for underground intel work, and yet, far too innocent to knock back just  _one_ flute of expensive champagne.  _Strange_ . 

Nonchalantly, Wanda turned away from the majority as if to face the forbidden bar, feigning talking to a woman on her left, whom she was sure was very lovely (the woman scowled), but must’ve thought her very strange indeed...

One last attempt couldn’t hurt, could it? One final chance at escaping the torment she was about to face? This naivety, however, very nearly cost her the life of an ear-drum. 

“Can’t I just read his mind?”

Her ear-piece practically combusted. 

_ [“ Jesus Christ, Kid !  You wanna be any louder? ”] _

_ [“ You can’t read minds! Elizabeth Petrović Can’t. Read. Minds !”] _

_ [“ No powers! We talked about this! ”] _

_ [“ You need to learn the old fashioned way! It’s an important skill for an Avenger !”] _

If anything, it was worth the try, she thought, as an incoherent screeching of indignant cries rallied in her ear. 

Exceedingly vexing, though, was the fact that her telepathic efforts would be entirely untraceable: she’d simply think of the name she’d been given, pluck it out from amongst the thousand others here like a stray hair, and have a good old leisurely rifle through Mr Creer’s undoubtedly shady mind. In a blink, her entire objective would be completed, and Wanda would be home, in bed, before her eyes even tinged the slightest shade of pink.

Alas, nothing she did could ever be that easy. 

Currently, all of the Avengers were monitoring her like an over-eager hawk: if she fell quiet for more than a second, there was a bombardment of questions; if she tried to grab just  _one measly drink_ -

She sighed. 

There really was no way around this one. It was clear to Wanda that the cause was irrefutably lost against the team’s stubborn logic, no matter how she argued. She may as well try and hurry to get the entire thing over with- if only so she could take off these god damn heels. And burn them. 

Against a tremendous uproar, Wanda straightened up, tucked a shiny ringlet of hair behind her ear, and made a beeline for the bar. 

_ [“ Don’t you dare !”] _

_ [“ You’re grounded. Forever .”] _

_ [“ Are you kidding me, Max- “] _

“A water, please,” she asked the bartender with a pearly smile, and he quickly set about concocting the most needlessly extravagant glass of water she’d ever laid eyes upon. She thanked him, taking a quick sip, and then turned back to scan the room, before further disapproving comment could be expressed. 

The hall was a vast thing, laden with lavish silk and dangling lights; filled with hundreds of round polished tables, and hundreds more people to fill them with. At the very back, an impressive orchestra played the sort of things that Wanda could only describe as  _fancy_ : it was hard to make out a particular tune, but there were lots of tinkly sounds, outmatched only in volume by a high-pitched rhythmic screeching. 

A girl in her class had learned the violin, once, back in second grade. It had never sounded... particularly...

Oh, not  today . 

Mr Creer was  _dancing_ . 

Wanda locked on to him like a missile targeting system, as he bobbed about the sea of coiffed hair and toupees: he was a short, wide man of fifty-three (or so his file had read), and his ill-fitted suit was as dark as the organisations he’d been affiliated with. 

They’d spotted him too. 

_ [“ Did I ever teach you how to two-step, Wanda? ”] _

She’d already decided that she was never going to speak to Steve again if she made it out of here alive, and he was doing a very solid job of reaffirming her decision. She was also  _never_ , not until the very distant day that Peter Parker swore in-front of Tony, going to dance. 

Therefore, it was an easy decision- the one to wait aside the dance floor, instead of gracing it. Judging by Mr Creers’s reddening face and wobbly movements, it was only a matter of moments before he inevitably returned to the bar for a drink, anyway. And then, Wanda would pounce. (Metaphorically, of course. She wasn’t planning on going anywhere near the man.)

As she was listening, distantly, to Tony and Sam bickering, her predictions soon came to light. The sparkling, jewel-toned crowd of elegant dancers parted like the sea, and out staggered Mr Creer, arms swinging at his side like hammers. Go time. 

“Mr Creer, Sir?” She called loudly to get his attention, but she needn’t have bothered. His head swivelled the very instant that Wanda made a sound; she smiled sweetly, and he beckoned her to follow him, without any apparent second notice. It ached already, to hold her face like this. 

“It’s so great to meet you, Sir,” she started, with as much false honour as she could muster, stumbling in her shiny heels to catch up. He flashed her a yellowed smile, and held out a hand, which Wanda reluctantly took in her own, and shook firmly. He didn’t ask for a name, so she simply moved on, undeterred. 

“I’ve heard all about your new initiative,” she began, just as Natasha had suggested, “I love all of your ideas, but this one’s just incredible! I was wondering if I could take a minute of your time to ask about-“

“What’re you drinking, honey?” Mr Creer intercepted, bluntly. 

Wanda didn’t at all like the way his words sounded, or the way he seemed to use them. Wanda didn’t at all like being interrupted, but she had a job to do, and a temper that couldn’t handle this plastic pretence for any longer than absolutely necessary. 

“That’s all right, sir. I have my water,” she said innocently, holding up her glass. 

Mr Creer snorted, and she was just about to press onwards with her conversation when they had reached the bar, and he spoke up again. 

“A whiskey please,” Creer asked, “And something...  _fancy_ , for the lady.”

Well at least she’d be getting one drink before the night was over. Her comm had fallen eerily silent, as if to let her concentrate, but Wanda could still feel the disapproval oozing through the channel. 

Before she had even the opportunity to protest specially for Steve’s behalf, there was a tall cocktail glass being pressed into her hand, and Creer had taken off  _again_ . For a small, hearty, drunken man, he seemed to be disproportionately fast. Unfairly so.Wanda tottered after him like a lost puppy. 

“About your work, I’ve always wanted to know-“ 

Again, the man interrupted her. This time, he only had the decency to cough, loudly, and then at last, he turned properly to face her. Instantly, though, all of Wanda wished he never bothered. It wasn’t as if she’d been stupid enough to assume such a person would be pleasant, but he was openly eyeing her like a slab of fresh meat. 

Elizabeth Petrović was meek, and patient. Meanwhile, Wanda Maximoff was trying incredibly hard not to pull apart the man’s vile thoughts like play-doh. 

“You can save your pretty little voice, sweetheart,” he drawled; she bit the urge to glare when his face contorted into that ugly, flashy grin. There was a bit of spittle, in the corner of his mouth, that twitched when he spoke. 

“What do you mean?”

Sweet. Innocent. She pictured him without a head. It helped to keep up her soft, star-stricken persona, even when...

“I know what you want, honey. You don’t have to pretend.”

Ah. 

Oh, shit. 

Was it the smile?

Had she really already failed? Was it to be true, that Wanda had botched her first solo mission before she’d even managed to stab  _one_ person ? What a complete and utter waste. 

Wanda swallowed, and smoothed her composure; stilled her thumping heart. Blinking slowly, she stared into his tiny grey eyes, and tilted her head inquisitively. He chuckled deeply. 

Steve was going to be  _so_ disappointed. 

“Come along, sweetheart- I’m going for a smoke.”

He made to move over to the door, and instinctively Wanda searched his bulging body for the weapon that was certain to be held at face level, once the doors swung closed behind them. Creer certainly looked like a pistol kind of man, but she couldn’t make it out amongst the many lines of his suit. 

What happened now? Apparently, she’d let down much higher expectations, because she hadn’t been briefed for this particular scenario. 

_ [“-  sending an arrest team \- - can you hold him? _ _”]_ An unintelligible someone asked in her ear, the reception all crackly and broken, as if she’d voiced her thought out loud, and, unexpectedly, something unpleasantly similar to shame grew in the pit of Wanda’s stomach. (Were they angry, that she’d blown her cover so quickly? That she couldn’t even handle one measly objective? Perhaps she was just imagining it.)

Could she hold off a drunken, waddling, oblivious man with a pistol, though? In her sleep. Holding out a hand as precaution, Wanda strode after him, tapping the comm once to affirm  _yes_ , she had this handled, and following his swiftly disappearing coat-tails our into the brisk evening. 

Now this part was Wanda’s area. This part, she could get behind. 

And maybe, if she held him here quietly until the remainders of Shield arrived, it would compensate for her initial failure.  _Maybe_ . 

She slammed into the door and it swung; she braced herself and span behind it, ready to blast Mr Creer right off of his unsteady legs, ready to defend herself against whatever dastardly weapon it was that this criminal had chosen to eliminate her with- 

The only scenario that Wanda had not accounted for, was a tipsy, red-faced, middle-aged man, holding an arm out to catch her waist, as if she’d stumbled on the icy gravel. 

Wait \- was he actually- lighting a cigarette? 

“ _Careful_ , darlin’”

It was innately unsettling, suddenly being alone with Mr Creer- even if she knew that there had been a bit of a misunderstanding, and he wasn’t about to attempt to smatter her pretty little brains across the sidewalk. 

_ [“ We’ve gone blind now. You okay? ”] _

“Yeah,” she muttered, breathless, and Mr Creel pocketed his lighter. 

“What’s that, sweetheart?” He asked, his beady eyes roving uncomfortably about her person as his fat lips formed his words. 

“Nothing,” she replied quickly, but then a thought struck, and she softened her face with every effort of her willpower.

He really  hadn’t  realised her intentions. 

Perhaps Wanda could still wrangle this, if he hadn’t actually yet seen through her cover...

_Work, Natasha had said... associates... ask him about the colleagues..._

“So,” she began, somewhat shakily, as a whole load of unnecessary adrenaline coursed through her veins, making her twitch somewhat. “Where was I?”

Cigarette now dangling jauntily from his mouth, Mr Creel gave her that same drooling look over, the one that made her insides writhe like serpents. 

“I love your accent, honey.”

Wanda grinned. In fact, she grinned so forcefully that she appeared quite seriously unhinged-  _that_ was decidedly  _not_ where they’d left off. 

“Thanks!” She exclaimed through a locked jaw, trying to measure exactly how much longer she could afford to keep up the act, for the simple sake of sticking it to Steve. Did this guy  _ever_ listen?

With Natasha, she’d created an entire falsified ramble that would subtly manipulate Creer into spilling his information without realising he’d given anything much away. For this scheme to work, however, there needed to be a conversation. A mutual conversation. With words. And, so far- through being shut down, eyeballed, and forced to drink- that had proven pretty impossible. 

“The new project-“ 

This time, there was barely a second passed before Creer held up a stubby finger- one which Wanda fought exceedingly hard not to rip clean away. 

She drew in a deep, long breath. 

The clawing shame that she’d felt only minutes ago, when she’d mistakenly realised that she’d failed this mission- it was  inconsequential , compared to the anger that was bubbling, now. 

Who had ever believed, for one unholy second, that Wanda had the temperament necessary to stay in character- sparkly, polite, clueless character- whilst attempting to make small talk with one of the biggest chauvinist dickbags on the planet?

In the very same moment that Wanda had decided to apologise softly to her comm, and then forcibly snatch the goddamn name from Creer’s mind, like she should’ve done from the beginning- shit went uncontrollably sideways,  _fast_ . 

“How much do you cost, honey?”

Wanda blanched. 

Sorry, what?

_ [“ ...Hold on..ETA... ten minutes...” ] _

Jagged pieces slotted into their place, grating against her chest: greasy little Mr Creer had never figured out Wanda’s suspicious intentions- but she’d finally had the sense to see his very own slimey objectives. 

This recon mission was no longer something irritable for Wanda- it had become something that she desperately needed to escape, in the next thirty seconds. 

The pressure on her waist was more firm, now. She wasn’t falling over, anymore. He should’ve let go already. 

“Mr Creer- I-“

(_“_ _I know what you want.._ _.”_)

She felt quite sick, as his meaty hands brushed against her hips. Why hadn’t she thrown him off, yet?

Why did she never throw them off?

_ (“ Save your pretty little voice, sweetheart...” ) _

And then his stubby little fingers found her exposed leg, and Wanda’s heart hit the concrete. 

_ (“ It’s either you, or your brother, Asset. I don’t mind .”) _

Despite everything: all of the things she’d faced and overcome, all of the times she’d saved the world from impending doom, the fat little man’s icy fingers clenched her thigh, and for the first time ever, Wanda was frozen solid. 

[_“-_ _ teams on there way, but  you’ve gone quiet, Wanda. Did you lose him? _ _”_]

It was absurd. Nonsensical. She was, by design, a human weapon. If she so desired, she could send out a power surge so concentrated that the Earth itself disintegrated into shimmering scarlet energy; Wanda could forcefully instruct the entire human population to self destruct, with a little effort, and then mankind would simply cease to exist. She could break apart the moon like an egg. She could burn city after city down to ruins, she could melt the brains of every living thing on the planet instantaneously, she could explode with the force of a star, she could-

She couldn’t. In that one, nauseous second, Wanda wasn’t the scarlet witch, destroyer of realities. Wanda wasn’t Elizabeth Petrović, glorified housewife. For an inescapable moment, Wanda was Wanda Maximoff, eighteen. Wanda Maximoff, alone. Wanda Maximoff, scrappy, bony, eighty pound teenager, with a foreign man’s hand grasping the flesh of her thigh...

_ [“ Do you copy? Are you inured? Do you still have eyes on Mr Creel? ”] _

He was close enough that she could feel his hot, sticky breath. And yet, he leaned ever closer still, sweaty and smirking. 

“I have a room we can go back to, Miss Petrović,” he whispered in one ear, and the other fell absolutely, achingly silent. 

It was impossible to ignore Creel’s sickening little mind: it was obnoxiously loud, and each disgusting thing that he imagined, as he groped her thigh, forced its way into her own head in high definition. Every last one of his dirty, grotesque fantasies played over and over and over in-front of Wanda like a broken reel of tape. 

It was a tape she’d seen before. 

She couldn’t move. Her stupid, cloudy mind couldn’t commit to any sort of response; everything went very quiet and still, despite her screaming, raging interior. 

Distantly, she tried desperately to shut the thoughts out, to make them  _stop_ \- but it was like trying to barricade a door that was made of paper. Her struggle was entirely futile. 

She needed to move. She needed to hit, and punch, and scream- but the connection between her thoughts and her actions had been severed, and her hearing had become murky and distant. 

And then, his cold, greasy fingers moved upwards, 

and-

Wanda  _exploded_ . 

There was no time for him to even open his pudgy little mouth and scream before a sharpened spear of striking scarlet had found its way to his throat. The rest of it accumulated into a pulsing, electrified wall between the two of them; the hand that had touched her was wrenched away with a  _crack_,  and then he was thrown against the wall. 

The serpents in her stomach were now coiled around Wanda in loops of lurid, sparking crimson vapour- she was almost alight against the winter sky, as her eyes burned brilliantly, and her palms hissed and spat. 

_Edgar Lascombe_ , offered his mind, splayed open like a book-  _Edgar Lascombe_ was the name she’d been after, all along. He was planning something involving four genetically-altered humans, which made Wanda’s chest tighten immeasurably, until she was sure her ribs must’ve cracked. 

His did. 

“ _How much do you cost_ _?_” and “ _I have a room we can go back to, Miss Petrović_ _,_” and Strucker in the base, and his hand where it was, and “ _Would you rather I bring Pietro with me, tomorrow?_ ” and “ _You’re so good, little witch_ ,” and the scarlet crashed against Johnathon Creer in violent, unstoppable waves, again and again and again. 

Something crunched, twice, again- there might’ve been some noise in her comm, but her head was pounding, ears ringing- the magic slammed, pulled back like a fist poised to crack again, until,  _until_ \- 

Creer’s struggle silenced. 

He slumped against the wall, blood shining in thick rivulets from his squashed nose, and Wanda’s scarlet snatched back, leaving her heart racing wildly, and her vision spinning. 

_ [...  Wanda?........... Wanda? ........] _

Creer was very still. Had she killed him? She didn’t check. 

_ [....  Kid?.... Wanda?..... Tony can she hear me?. .”] _

Everything reeled. 

Her mouth was nauseatingly sour with freshly resurfaced nightmares; she remained upright, and stared, and shook uncontrollably, trying somehow to ground herself, when there was a man dying, metres away. 

Up along her thigh, the pale, shimmery fabric of her dress was torn. Beneath the frays of ruined silk, there was a familiar, dark, mottled bruise beginning to develop. It was tinged green, around the edges. 

She stood, and trembled, and swayed with the thumping of her deafening pulse until four sleek, heavy cars rolled up on the gravel behind her. 

And she couldn’t move, even then. 

Hill was the first to slide out, Wanda could tell by the meticulously trained footsteps- she had her pistol poised, as always, and her heavy furrowed brow- the one than meant she was surveying every last detail of the scene. It melted instantly, when her eyes lay sight upon Wanda. 

“Oh,  _kid_ .”

•

“The male was unconscious when we arrived- injured, critically- sorry, _of course_, Wanda? She seemed under considerable distress, but we believe her to be uninjured. She hasn’t said anything, but we’re piecing things together right now. I don’t- what _happened_, Steve? What happened to make her like that? What did you hear?”

•

By the time the car had rolled up to the side of the compound, Wanda had managed some sort of clumsy grasp over the wild, unbridled chaos that her unwinding mind had become. When she forced her eyes into blurry focus, and realised, initially, that they were all huddled outside of the building like anxious preschool parents, she came very close to losing this fragile hold entirely. 

The shoes came out of the jeep, before Wanda. They arced gracefully in the air like great, snowy birds- and then splintered into halves on the hard concrete. 

When she pulled herself gingerly out of the doorframe, it took all of her concentration not to crack in a similar fashion. Clint was by her side immediately, despite her half-washed, whispered protests that she could steady herself. 

“What happened?” He asked, all stammering and desperate, “We heard..  _him_ , but we couldn’t see you, and then it went quiet- and  _Fury_ , he wouldn’t let me go, even though I said, and- I was going to come anyway but then Maria, and-“

He attempted to survey her body for injuries- she was notoriously good at hiding them after all, and startlingly quiet, right now- but then his eyes caught at the top of her leg, at the ugly tear, and the bruise. Clint’s word’s got lost, somewhere, on the journey between his brain and his lips. 

“I stopped him,” she whispered, in some feeble effort at... comfort, she supposed. The implications of what exactly she stopped him from doing, however, were enough set his dangerous fury visibly across his eyes. 

Before his expression could draw everything from her, she turned away, and found Steve, because she  _needed_ to do just this one good thing, before she let the cracks spiral. 

“Edgar Lascombe. Associated formerly with Hydra. He’s planning an experiment and an attack involving four genetically altered humans.”

It wasn’t the victory she’d imagined, when she’d kept her stupid heels on blistered feet, and,  _and_ ... just so she could spite him. All the same, he nodded swiftly, and took off in a sprint towards the Shield cars, Nat as his shadow- who’s face almost crumpled, when she tried to smile at Wanda. She  _knew_ .

Wanda did not envy the person who’d come to face the Widow, tonight. 

She wondered, for a short moment,if they’d have time to feel like this- detached, tenuous, and suffocatingly unsure- before it all collapsed into endless dark. They wouldn’t. The bad guys always got the quick way out. 

Standing in the floodlights, absolutely oblivious to the bitter winter chill, Wanda became aware of how dirty she felt. Stained, with the lingering grasp of Creer’s pudgy fingers, and Strucker’s sickeningly familiar touch, all those years ago... the one which she’d managed to lose sight of, until this simple reconnoissance outing. 

And it was then, facing the rest of her team- her pretty dress in tatters, her skin smeared in flecks of dark blood, from the man who she’d beaten so ruthlessly- that the control she’d had over her emotions realised that it was never really a control at all. 

Nothing Wanda did was ever that easy. And, of course, she’d never get the quick way out. 

The tears sprang, and Clint held her silently until it was over, like he always did. 

•

_“Good morning America! The time of giving thanks is fast upon us, but before we celebrate, we have some breaking news.”_

_“Absolutely, Emma. Official reports have been disclosed today from a recent Avengers case, following the outing and demise of a Hydra-infiltrated Shield. It is said that, following high suspicions, Mrs Romanoff and our Captain, Steve Rogers exposed a man’s dangerous plans of illegal experimentation.”_

_“That’s right. The renowned scientist known as Professor Lascombe, of Hungary, was discovered to have been involved in the planning of the genetic alteration of four of his university students.”_

“_Thanks to the timely intervention of Mr Rogers and Miss Romanoff, however, he was caught before he could attempt to endanger any of these victims.”_

_“The president of the Republic of Hungary has expressed his gratitude to the Avengers, and says that he is ‘immeasurably grateful for the opportunity to celebrate the actions of the government, in the place of mourning four of Hungary’s brightest young minds.’”_

_“Beautifully put? Don’t you think?”_

_“I think it’s an incredible win, especially in this time, where horror stories are commonplace, in the media.”_

_“Something to celebrate, indeed.”_

•

The thing about breaking apart, is that it never became easier to stitch herself whole again- no matter how many times she’d been broken down before. 

It was going to be okay, though: she knew this, as soft, white snow began to settle in her hair, and Sam threw an enormous thermal coat at Clint, who wrapped snugly around the two of them. 

She knew this, as Bucky managed to land a snowball right between Sam’s eyebrows, just to make her smile, and then again as Bruce hit Bucky on the back of the head, and promptly stuttered an apology, which Bucky warmly laughed off. 

She knew this, as Tony decided to enlist the help of his bots to create the vaguest interpretation of a snowman she’d ever seen, which then ended up being thrown overarm at Steve, when he returned in his uniform, all scuffled and grazed. 

She _knew_ this, as she shot awake in hysterics because the nightmares were worse than ever, and she wouldn’t speak for days afterwards. She knew this, because Wanda had her family, and for now, that was enough to hold together the pieces. 

It was going to be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> On this episode of I have never figured out how to end a fic...
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed reading, thanks :)Feel free to comment about what u liked or didn’t & maybe what ud like to see also!!
> 
> And, now, for the excuses...
> 
> \- I am quite stuck for inspo, with my x-men au, but I am not abandoning it! Please don’t think I am! It is happening, slowly 
> 
> \- I have also not abandoned any of my prompt fills, it’s just finding the time (I write for fun!)
> 
> -And the big one, my main Wip- a LOT of my work got deleted, and I fell out with it for a while. (Like three months oh wow that scares me) but I am working on getting back to more regular updates :)
> 
> I hope yall are having a great day!!!!!!  
Let’s talk at my inactive tumblr <3 @arabellacastre


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